Little Sister
by Imaginary Camera Ninja Poet
Summary: When John sees a girl a lot like Sherlock ready to jump from a bridge, what is he supposed to do? Let her? Johnlock, OC-centric(kinda...)... I'm not very good at this so please don't hate me for it. TW: May include SH, suicide, ED.
1. Prologue

_ Mrs Hudson got a new kitchen table today. It's got a glass top. -JW_

_ Weather's lovely. It's been sunny all week. -JW_

_ There's a woman I keep seeing around lately. I saw her twice in Speedy's last week. She left around the same time I did. I think she might be following me. She's tall, with dark hair. Reminds me of you a bit. -JW_

_ I keep making too much tea. I forget that you're not around. I remember how much milk you have, though. -JW_

Looking through sent messages to a phone that isn't in use. Lingering by a scene of what appears to be an attempted murder near Holloway. A scene that _he_ could have had all figured out within ten minutes. A scene that John was only allowed on because Lestrade thought it was unhealthy to leave him alone. Everyone had been being so _nice_ lately, quiet and subdued around him, and even Donovan had stopped referring to _him_ as 'Freak'. Just the emphasized pronouns that everyone used lately.

The one about the weather had changed. The one about the tall brunette had not. He was sure he'd seen her earlier that evening, going in almost the same direction as he. But she wouldn't be here- wouldn't be allowed. Not as a silent, nervous-looking and glass-eyed shadow in the back of the restaurant, not as a jumpy pedestrian who shrieked when someone brushed her arm walking past. Not as a figure who would remind John of _him..._ Of Sher... _Sherlock_ if she wasn't dressed so oddly.

"John? We're done here, I'm going to get a beer if you want to join me..." John wasn't sure if the voice belonged to Donovan or Lestrade, and he didn't look up to check.  
"No thanks... Going back to the flat, Mrs Hudson wanted some help with something... Peeling wallpaper I think..." A long sigh. Eyelids that felt too heavy rubbed before standing up. It was Donovan. It did seem more fitting, somehow.  
"Okay... Well..." It hung in the air like a body from a rope. Not that that had been _his_ method. Everything seemed like suicide lately. Two and a half years, and John wasn't over it at all. It hadn't even slipped his mind yet. It was _always_ there.

He didn't actually want to go home though. There was no point. Mrs Hudson wasn't going to fix the wallpaper until the next morning.

* * *

AN: I know this is very short, and it will include a fancharacter/OC of mine who I am almost 100% certain is a Mary Sue. One of my friends told me I should post it. If you dislike OCs, or if you dislike Mary Sues, then don't read this. Also keep in mind that I am very new to fanfiction and will probably make everyone or nearly everyone OOC a good deal of the time.

And I don't take criticism well.  
If you tell me 'you made a small mistake there with x' I am going to think you hate me.  
Please don't hate me.

I'll put more up once I have more.


	2. Chapter 1: All Over Again

_I'm going to wander around until I find something interesting happening. -JW_

He sent it, not quite sure why, and started walking. Streets and lights blurred into each other, he had no idea what road he was on, until he saw that woman again. There was a bridge nearby, and she stopped in the middle of it, looking over the edge at the road.

"...Archway. I'm in Archway," he sighed, and walked towards her. The Archway Bridge, Suicide Bridge, good for jumping, and here was this pigtailed woman in a pleated plaid skirt and a dark blue shirt and stockings leaning over the edge. A woman who looked quite like _him_, maybe if she lost the glasses she could even _be_ him. The same cheekbones, the same posture.

She turned to look at him as he neared her. One of her feet was half out of her shoe. The other shoe was off, neatly placed against the wall of the bridge. She looked shocked, afraid, and a bit ashamed.  
"Er, hi," he started, before her face calmed.  
"Hi. Do you need something?" The moon reflected in her lenses, and it looked so similar to her irises. They were silver, bright silver, with hints of green.  
"Just wondering about something, that's all."  
"Oh." She turned her eyes back to the road. A van went by. She blinked. It seemed deliberate. A silence. He wasn't sure if she was going to say something else.  
"Um... So... Well." She didn't respond. Her eyes were fixed on the road. Any cars that went past were blinked at. Anything else was ignored.  
"Have you been following me?" He blurted out, and she frowned.  
"No. I have not. You are not the person I have been following." Her eyes seemed darker when she frowned, and more blue. John wondered why he was focusing on her eyes so much, then realized they reminded him of _him_.  
"So you have been following someone then. Er, isn't that called stalking?" Her other shoe was off. She shook her head.  
"He's done it many times before," she whispered, shaking slightly, "Do you need anything else?"  
"Er, yeah- You're not going to jump, are you?" She jolted up at this, alarmed. Pale skin going white like new snow. There wasn't anything she could have said to convince him that she hadn't been thinking of it.  
"Thought so."  
"I am going to, yes."  
"Why?"  
"I am unnecessary."  
"Why would you say that?"  
"I thought I might be required for something, but it turns out I am not." Her voice was soft and quiet, and afraid. She was shaking.  
"I'm sure there's something. I... I had a friend jump once."  
"I know," and she covered her mouth.  
"... Yeah. We were celebrities, weren't we?"  
"I-i don't know." Her breathing was faster. She was pale. He could swear he heard her heartbeat, and it was too quick.  
"Are you alright?"  
"Leave." Strong voice. No traces of fear. He couldn't hear it anymore. She was breathing normally. Her skin wasn't so pale. It had taken at most three seconds for her demeanor to change.  
It was scary how similar she was to _him_.  
"Er- No, I don't think I will."  
"John Watson, go home." She turned to look at him, and she looked angry. She'd know his name from the papers, of course, but she'd said she didn't know that they were celebrities. Both her shoes were neatly by the wall. She appeared furious, and tensed, but she didn't appear to have any weapons on her.  
"No thanks." She glared at him for a moment, before sighing and dropping her shoulders. For a moment she seemed fine again, then she placed her hands on the wall and pulled herself up to stand on it.  
"Don't-" A hand reached for an ankle, but frozen entirely at two words.  
"He's alive."  
And then she fell.

* * *

AN: I don't know why I'm so excited about this, I haven't written in a long time I guess. Yes, this is my OC, and no, she does not die here. And no, she doesn't actually have a very good concept of what is or isn't stalking.

Thank you for reading! 3


	3. Chapter 2: In The Hospital

John Watson had woken up in hospitals before, but it took him a moment to realize that this time he was sitting in a waiting room chair rather than lying in a hospital bed. He was confused as to why he was at a hospital, and then he remembered.  
_"He's alive." She stepped off the edge while saying this, taking advantage of the way it shocked him. But he was used to being shocked, and immediately he called 112, pressing the call button right as he heard her hit the ground. There were no cars, and he found a way to the road beside her. Rattling off the location to the operator and asking for an ambulance, pulling her off the road to make sure she wouldn't be run over. It had been embarrassing when he realized he didn't have her name to give to the doctors, but one of them had smiled at him when he said that.  
__"It's fine. She looks like she'll be okay."  
__"I know. I was a doctor." The lady had smiled at him again, her hair bright red and obviously dyed. Her roots were blonde. She had a streak of purple behind her ear. He'd stopped himself from listing these things when he realized _he_ would have done just the same.  
_Now the same purple-streaked doctor approached him.  
"Your phone rang a few times when you were asleep," she told him, sitting down as he sat up.  
"It did? Sorry about that..." There was a painting on the wall opposite him. Beside it was a photograph of the hospital when it had first been built. The doctor speaking to him was fiddling with her sleeves.  
"It's fine. So, why'd you stick around?"  
"What?"  
"After getting that girl in here. Why'd you stick around? You didn't even know her name."  
"Er, she reminded me of someone, I guess." The doctor had three blackheads beneath her right eye. That was a small simple thing, and he focused on it.  
"You seemed worried about her."  
"Er, yeah."  
"Well, she's fine now. Her leg's a bit messed up, but she's alive and nothing's broken." Her accent was odd. Almost American. John thought to ask about it, but didn't.  
"Right. Thanks." He wasn't quite sure what else to do. He wanted to ask her about Sherlock. How she knew him, if he was really alive, if so, where he was and what he'd been doing. The doctor stood up though.  
"It's nearly three in the morning, you know."  
"Oh."  
"You know where she lives? I'm hesitant to let her go without a chaperon." That seemed odd. He looked at her quizzically, and she shrugged.  
"I don't, but I could ask her."  
"Well... We don't have any contacts, and she won't tell us any, so..."  
"It's fine..." He stood up.  
"I'll get her, then?"  
"Yeah..." She nodded, and walked off down the hall. He looked at the painting again. It was of red flowers and green grass. Not particularly interesting.  
The doctor came back down the hall with her. She had bandages around her leg. It was still bleeding a bit, but it didn't seem serious. She didn't say anything. She stared down at her feet. They were bare. Her shoes were still on the bridge.

* * *

AN: I couldn't think of a title for this chapter so I had to get my friends to help.


	4. Chapter 3: Revising The Bridge

"I don't actually have a place I'm staying," about ten meters away from the hospital, she spoke. She looked down when saying it, eyes on his shoes.  
"Want to go get your shoes?" It occurred to him that they had looked expensive.  
"Yes. And my suitcase."  
"If you don't have a place you're staying, where's your suitcase? And where have you been staying recently?"  
"Sally's house." It seemed to be her answer to both questions. He wondered who Sally was. He considered asking, but she started walking faster.  
"Where is Sally's house?" He sped up also. A street sign said Cranley Gardens, and she turned onto that street.  
"Shoes."  
"Wouldn't it be faster to go the other way?"  
"... Shoes." She didn't say anything else. Her voice was small. She walked quickly. He walked quickly also. John started to wonder who she was, how she knew Sherlock, who Sally was, why she was here without a place to stay long-term-  
"Shoes." They were on the bridge again. She sat down beside them, eyes cast down, and started to put them on. She appeared to be blushing.  
"... Are you alright?" She turned her head down farther. She was shaking.  
"Hey, talk to me..." He crouched down in front of her, and she looked like she was crying.  
"... What's your name?"  
"E-evangeline..."  
"Evangeline...?"  
"Evangeline..."  
"Okay. What's your surname, Evangeline?"  
"I-i'm Ev... Evan... Evangeline H..." Her voice shook and it was hard to tell what she was saying.  
"Okay. Evangeline. You need somewhere to stay tonight, right?" She nodded, and she _was_ crying. Her pigtails bobbed up and down. Both her shoes were on.  
"Do you want to come with me? I've got a flat, and I don't have a flatmate anymore." She shook her head violently, and opened her eyes.  
"You do, you still do, he's alive..."  
"How do you know?"  
"I've been following him, he's alive..." She looked like she was getting more upset.  
"Okay. I believe you. Do you want to stay with me tonight anyway?"  
"A-alright..." She smiled. It was weak, but it seemed sincere.  
"I didn't catch your surname, you were crying a bit..."  
"I-it's... H-h..." She didn't seem able to say it, but John had a pretty good idea of what it was. The eyes, the posture, those goddamn cheekbones.  
"Evangeline... Holmes?"

* * *

AN: Aaaaand here's the part where you all hate me for my Mary Sue. So. Yeah.  
Please review...


	5. Chapter 4: Bad At Chess

"So... He is alive, he is following me most of the time, and you've been following him." She nodded, sitting perfectly straight in the chair by the kitchen table. It was nearly noon, and just now John had woken up. She had been sitting quietly on the couch when he came through. He'd asked her to come through to the kitchen so she could answer some questions while he made breakfast, or lunch, or whatever this was. Currently he was trying to make scrambled eggs. They weren't turning out very well.  
"And is there a reason no one ever told me this before?"  
"The gunman was still around."  
"What gunman?"  
"Sniper. Gunman? Sniper? I don't know..."  
"There was someone with a gun."  
"Aimed at you. And two others aimed at two other people."  
"And..."  
"He's gone now." He sighed, deciding that the eggs were a lost cause. He scraped them into the bin and opened the fridge to look for something else to eat.  
"Um..."  
"Yes?"  
"Nevermind," she mumbled, looking down at her feet. John looked back at her, and her eyes darted from the fridge to the stove to her feet again.  
"... Can you cook?"  
"Yes..." It almost sounded like there was shame in her voice. Like an apology. He stepped back from the fridge.  
"Would you?" Her eyes widened as she looked up, and she went pale. Her mouth moved like she was going to speak, but she inhaled and exhaled rapidly instead. Her skin became shiny and it appeared she was sweating. She was shaking. He moved closer to keep her still, but she jumped back and fell out of the chair. He stepped back, watching her hyperventilate and stare at him, shaking in what appeared to be fear.  
"S-sorry," she managed to say, and he shook his head.  
"It's okay, you don't have to."  
"Sorry."  
"It's okay." She shook her head, and bent it down. Her knees came to her chest. Her breathing slowed a bit.  
"So. Um. Tell me about Sherlock? Are you his cousin, or his sister, or...?" John knew the answer already. Sherlock had no uncles, and his aunt had no children. And she was too old to be a daughter. Even if Sherlock did have a girlfriend somewhere.  
"S-sister."  
"Older, or younger?"  
"Y... younger." She looked up. She was still pale, and still shaking, but her breathing seemed more even now. He stepped forward hesitantly. She shook more. He stayed where he was.  
"How much younger?"  
"Two years..."  
"So you've been around most of his life."  
"Yes..."  
"What was he like? When he was little." She didn't reply. She looked like she was thinking. After about half a minute, she sighed.  
"He was bad at chess. He was good at checkers. He was very interested in crime scenes but touched things too often so the police didn't let him on the scenes. He was smart, but not as smart as Mycroft, and that upset him. He was quiet," she declared. John blinked. He had not expected her to say things like that. Bad at chess? Good at checkers? _Quiet_? It was odd. How would she know which games he was good at? Girls didn't play chess... except, perhaps, this one did.  
"Interesting," he replied after a few moments. She was breathing more normally now, and she stood up, placing the chair back in its place.  
"He intends to come back within the next week, you know."  
"Really?"  
"Yes." He looked at her, staring down at her feet, and recognized her expression. It was one of someone who no longer has the energy to lie.

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AN: Review? Please?


	6. Chapter 5: He Was Sixteen

Mrs Hudson was not upset about John not helping with the wallpaper. She had fixed it herself, quite easily apparently, and left a note by the wall saying there was a piece of cake in the fridge, she'd got extra. He offered it to Evangeline, but she refused it. He ate it for breakfast. She said she wasn't hungry.  
"So, um..."  
"Yes?"  
"I should be going now..."  
"No, you can stay. Until Sherlock gets back, alright?"  
"But I'll waste your food and space."  
"It's alright. It's not a waste." She looked shocked, but nodded. He smiled at her. To be honest, he was actually quite glad to have someone else around. Someone who was quiet and didn't ask too many questions. Someone who didn't seem the type to bother him to go out to supper every night or go socialize or try to get a girlfriend.  
She was quiet, and she seemed almost as antisocial as him lately. Or maybe she was simply quiet.  
"What was it like? Growing up with Sherlock..." John had been curious as to what Sherlock's childhood was like, but he had never wanted to talk about it. Maybe she would.  
"He..." She fixed her gaze on her feet. Then she shrugged.  
"Unusual? Well, you wouldn't know, you've never had anyone else's childhood..."  
"Do you not have work today?"  
"What? No, my shift isn't until three."  
"Okay."  
"Why?"  
"I was wondering." She sat straight, her head bowed. Her feet and knees were together. Her pigtails were very nearly symmetrical.  
"So, er..." Her head turned to look at her still-closed suitcase. She hadn't opened it the last night. She'd taken the spare key from its hiding place at her friend's house, gotten her suitcase, left a note about leaving, locked the door, and put the key back. She had had a notebook, but by the time they got to 221B it was put away. John wondered what was in it, but knew better than to ask.  
"Well. Make yourself at home, I guess. Er, you don't have to sleep on the couch. You can sleep in his room..."  
"I-I can't do that."  
"Why not?" She mumbled something quietly. He couldn't quite tell what it was. She turned her head towards him.  
"Sorry, didn't catch that..." She made a sound like the start of a sigh as she mouthed the word. H. It was an h sound at the beginning of the word. For a moment he was perplexed, and then she made a jabbing motion towards her arm.  
"... Is there some in there? Should I call Lestrade?"  
"There will be."  
"So wait, when did he... When did he start with...?"  
"Age sixteen." She looked at the floor, and pulled her knees into her chest again. Why would that affect her so much? He was sixteen, yeah, but she wasn't... John realized with a start that she would have been fourteen at the time. Funny, how if you met someone, you couldn't imagine them younger than they'd been when you met them. What was it like for her, her older brother being a drug addict? Well, she had Mycroft too, of course. Did she get along with him? Did anyone?  
"When did you find out?"  
"Third time."  
"What?"  
"The third time he used it." Her lips kept moving after that, but she made no sound.  
"... Sorry? Was there something else?"  
"The third time he used it. He was in his room. Grandmother was in the garden and Mycroft had arrived home from college for a visit. I went to fetch him and he had it in his arm."  
"Oh. Well. Yikes. That's..."  
"And I asked him about it. I went in and shut the door and asked him. And he said it was fun. And I told him- I told him _it_ was fun. And he didn't believe me. Said it was different. He didn't know as much about neurochemistry then. And I couldn't stop him but I told him Mycroft would be able to tell and so he spent that week having cravings and shaking and getting upset easily."  
"That was a lot."  
"Sorry. I remember it well."  
_Were you really only sixteen? -JW_


	7. Chapter 6: The Girl Blogs

John arrived home to a girl sitting sideways on the couch with a laptop on her knees. It was shiny and it had a blue case. She appeared to be typing something. Her eyes were focused on her screen, and her glasses lay by her side.  
"Writing?"  
"Blogging."  
"You keep a blog?"  
"Yes." When she said no more, he walked over to her and sat down in the chair. She looked at him, her fingers halting.  
"What... What do you put on your blog?"  
"Mostly... Mostly music..." She picked up her glasses nervously and put them on.  
"Oh? What type of music?"  
"Mine..."  
"You make music?"  
"Composer..." She turned back to her screen, and hit a key hard. Her keyboard was a shiny silver colour.  
"Can I hear some of it?"  
"Um..." She started breathing faster. He moved away a bit.  
"It's okay, it's okay, you don't have to show me." She nodded, going pale.  
"Really, it's okay."  
"A-alright," she mumbled. John smiled at her. Her breathing was shaky and uneven.  
"Deep breaths." She nodded, breathing in. Then she sat up and closed her laptop.  
"Any ideas for supper?" He stood up, stretching.  
"You have a box of farfalle in the back of the left cupboard above the sink." It was quiet. He wondered how she'd found that out. Maybe she just liked looking at things.  
"Alright... Um... Er, don't go in my room, please."  
"Already did..." She bit her lip, and pointed at a small pile of what looked like power cords at the side of the couch by her feet. He had dismissed that earlier as probably just her things, but when he took a closer look, it appeared to be about twenty small cameras.  
"What are-"  
"Mycroft."  
"Oh. Is that also how you found the pasta?"  
"Yes."  
"How did you...?"  
"Mycroft watches anyone he has any interest in. I didn't want him to know that I'm here. If they were streaming constantly, he'd already have contacted me. So it seems that these ones just get picked up every so often and their recordings taken. Um, they were reset recently, but the video that had been on them- I checked- it dated back to about two months before that. So in a few months you might get in a bit of trouble with him. Sorry." He stood staring at her for a few moments, and then laughed.  
"Does it run in the family?"

* * *

AN: I don't intend to post more after this until I get at least one more review.  
... And when I say review, I mean like, actually telling me something you liked and something you didn't.  
That is all.


	8. Chapter 7: Secrets And Disappearances

_**AN:**_ TW: sh

Two days. It was two days later when John found out. Evangeline hadn't been expecting him to come home early. She had expected some time to clean up after herself. Not for him to come home and see blood in the sink and find her bandaging up her arms.  
He'd been shocked, but had helped her calm down when she started hyperventilating. Then he helped her clean up and asked her about it. She didn't answer, she just apologised over and over.  
That night they stayed up watching bad television shows and eating popcorn and leftover pasta salad. She said she was cold. He got blankets. Eventually she fell asleep on the couch next to him. He wasn't sure how this had happened really. She was so nervous that night on the bridge, and after that, and she'd had a panic attack the next morning and she kept being nervous and alternately silencing herself and saying everything that came to her mind. Anxiety. It had to be anxiety. She had social anxiety and got nervous around people, he decided. But that didn't explain her trusting him enough to fall asleep in his presence. Was it what had happened earlier? Her... Addiction? John wasn't sure if it was an addiction. Whatever it was, it seemed to be her secret. Had the doctors at the hospital seen it? Did Mycroft know? Did Sherlock?  
She shifted slightly next to him, her head at his side. She'd taken her hair down, and he'd seen a jagged scar at her hairline. He didn't ask. It looked old. He wondered if anyone else had seen it. If anyone else had seen the long scar running the length of her left forearm, with smaller circular scars on either side. Like stitches, but obviously not professional. When was the last time she'd seen a doctor before the bridge?  
John didn't remember falling asleep. He did remember waking up on the couch alone and hearing voices at the door. Mrs Hudson was there, he could hear her. She could deal with it. He looked around for Evangeline, but couldn't see her. Her suitcase and laptop were also gone. The cameras she'd taken from around the apartment were in neat rows on the desk by his computer. There was no sign of her. He walked through the rooms carefully. Only when he got to _his_ room did he see something unusual.  
The window was slightly open. There was one of those cameras pointing out of it. He looked out, and saw a few jumbled boxes on the ground below it. Not her. She was gone.

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AN: I'm sorry for how short this one is, but it shouldn't be too hard to guess why she disappeared, no? ^^ Please review more, I like reviews.


	9. Chapter 8: Return

Halfway down the stairs his phone buzzed.  
_Don't mention me. -Ev_  
He didn't recognize the number, but of course she'd have been able to get his. He was about to text back when he reached the bottom step and saw him.  
Him. He was back. He looked almost the same. A dark blue button-up shirt, top button undone. Dark curls a bit longer than John remembered. His pants were splattered with mud. There was a small cut on his left cheek and a bruise blossoming on his neck.  
Mrs Hudson was fussing over him, about how he had gotten mud all over his lovely new dress shoes and how he looked like he'd been in a fight and goodness, when was the last time he ate? And John looked all over him and at his hands which were shaking and that spot in his pocket where his phone was and finally at his face, and at his eyes, looking right at him. He looked almost lost.  
"John..." His voice was soft and shaking and he sounded almost like he had a few years ago in that inn when he was drugged. Fuzzy and blurry and like he had too much fluid in his mouth.  
"What the bloody hell happened to you?" His own voice was shaking and he tried to stop it from cracking but he couldn't and he barely realized he was crying and shaking and trying very very hard to stay still and not punch him or hug him or strangle him and then kiss him.  
"Moran..."  
"What the hell?"  
"Moriarty's sniper..." Mrs Hudson went out and brought tea that she'd made and gave a mug to him and a mug to John and he couldn't do anything but drink it even though it was still too hot. He was about to move when his phone buzzed again.  
_He hasn't eaten in three days at least, and I think he's been back on it again. Be careful. -Ev_  
Looking up from the phone he had to remind himself not to blurt out this new information because he would know where it came from, or something similar. He was looking at him still and he hadn't had any of his tea yet. John cleared his throat and coughed and managed to stop himself from shaking.  
"Drink your tea, don't waste it."  
"Too much milk." It was silly, it was stupid, it made him laugh.  
"Come on, I haven't had breakfast yet." Up the stairs, and he followed. John could hear how his footsteps shook. He got out his phone again.  
_Greg? -JW  
You never text me. -G.L.  
He's here. -JW  
WHAT?! -G.L._  
He sat on the couch. The same place she'd slept. John went through to the kitchen to make some tea that he'd actually drink, and some eggs. Some eggs that wouldn't end up in the bin.  
"What did you fill your time with while I was gone?"  
"Who says I needed to?" Another mug, this one more suitable obviously because he took it and it was emptied within a minute. Then two plates of eggs. John sat on the chair, unwilling to sit beside him.  
He ate. Slowly, but he did. Hands shaking as he took forkfuls to his mouth.  
"You learned to cook?"  
"Er, yeah." Was taught, more like. Oregano, fried tomatoes, and eggs. Anything can be ruined by a lack of salt, or made to slay your tastes with too much. Nutmeg does well with almost anything. Simple advice, to make foods more complex.  
"It's good." His plate was empty. John's had most of his food left.  
"Yeah."  
"John..." He sighed, then looked up at him again.  
"Yes?" Sad silvery eyes fixed on his again. He mouthed words but made no sound.  
"John..."  
"Say something, damn it!" Hands slammed on the arms of the chair, and he flinched at the sound of his own voice. _He_ had no reaction.  
"... I missed you, John." And then there were tears in his eyes, and they stayed there as John put his plate to the side, and as he slid next to him on the couch he started crying, and was then sobbing into the doctor's shoulder.  
"I missed you too, Sherlock."

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AN: I really am sorry if this is OOC. I'll blame it on shock, shall I? Yeah, I will. Please review. ^^


	10. Chapter 9: Observations

"So. Er. Why are there cameras on the table?"  
"Found them around the flat."  
"Mycroft's?"  
"Probably." As John rested his head on the taller man's shoulder, there was a loud knock at the door and his phone buzzed. Twice.  
_John let us in. -G.L.  
Please come to your door. -MH_  
He smirked at the set of them. It wouldn't surprise him much if they were together. They did seem to have a fondness for each other. He'd seen them getting coffee together a few times. And once out walking somewhere together. They _could_ be friends. He doubted it.  
"Who is it?"  
"Lestrade, and your brother."  
"Oh dear."  
"Go wash your face, you look terrible." Sherlock got up and went off to clean his face as John descended the stairs again and opened the door to Greg and Mycroft, whose hands sped apart as his eyes darted down.  
"Donovan owes me twenty. Come in."  
"Where is he?" The older Holmes demanded as they climbed the stairs.  
"Washing up. He ate." The tap was running in the washroom. Small splashing sounds. Then it went off and a few moments later the door opened. The ends of his hair were wet.  
"Anderson will be furious," Greg said after a few moments of awkward silence. This set of a bout of laughter from three of them and a smirk from Mycroft.  
"Where _have_ you been, Sherlock?"  
"There was a sniper. Sebastian Moran. I've taken care of him." They chattered away, well, Mycroft and Greg did, and John sat down again. Where he'd been when Evangeline fell asleep the night before.  
_They're both there, aren't they. -Ev_  
_How did you get my number? -JW_  
_I checked your phone while you were asleep. Sorry. -Ev_  
_It's fine. Sherlock, Mycroft, and Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. And Mrs Hudson and I. -JW  
I know Lestrade. Kind of. -Ev  
You do? -JW  
Yes. Coworker of a friend. -Ev  
Really. -JW  
Kind of. I've met him. He wouldn't recognize me though. Is my green ribbon still on your coffee table? -Ev_  
He looked, and sure enough, it was. He grabbed it and slipped it into his pocket quickly, hoping no one had seen. Of course, Sherlock would probably have noticed.  
_It was. Now it's in my pocket. I owe you an apology. -JW  
For pretending to accept that he was alive, just to pacify me? It's fine. I barely believed it myself. -Ev_  
"John, who're you texting? New girlfriend?" He hadn't expected the Detective Inspector to be the first to notice that his eyes were glued to his phone. Then again, Greg was probably smarter than the average man, wasn't he? He _was_ the Detective Inspector, that had to take _some_ smarts. Being placed next to Sherlock so often must be what made him seem mediocre, John reasoned.  
"Uh, no. A friend."  
"You have friends?"  
"A few."  
"Who _text_?"  
"One." This elicited a chuckle from Lestrade. Mycroft was pestering Sherlock still, so he didn't know how _he_ had reacted.  
"Come on, it's a girlfriend, isn't it."  
"No, I assure you she is not my girlfriend."  
"It _is_ a she."  
"Yes."  
"Molly?"  
"Molly doesn't text me."  
"A... _new_ friend?" John considered lying, but Sherlock might notice that now that the Holmes brothers were paying attention to their conversation instead of bickering.  
"Yeah, met her about a week ago."  
"How did you meet?"  
"Er, not sure I should say." A bridge. Archway bridge. She was going to jump off.  
_Yeah, for that. -JW_  
_You disappeared. -Ev  
Being pestered about who this mysterious new female friend who is not my girlfriend who I am texting is. -JW  
That was quite the sentence. -Ev_  
_I guess, yeah. -JW  
Make sure he doesn't get your phone. Either of them. Erase these before 9 tonight. -Ev  
Why 9? -JW  
That's when Mycroft usually searches people's phones. -Ev  
Really? Why? -JW  
Don't know. I'll figure it out if we ever get on speaking terms again. -Ev  
_"John, really. How did you meet her? Was it a date?"  
"I bumped into her while wandering around Archway." True enough.  
"And you really shouldn't say that? Come on, that's nothing." Sherlock's expression changed slightly on hearing this information. Hopefully he'd come to a wrong conclusion, a plausible one, so he'd dismiss it as 'boring' and stop thinking about it.  
Instead of realizing that there had been a suicide attempt that night.  
Instead of realizing it'd been _her_ suicide attempt. If it was him, it'd be easily explained away- lonliness, sadness, wanting to be like Sherlock, et cetera- but why he'd make friends with a suicidal girl who he'd just met wouldn't be quite as easy.  
After all, those scars on her arm said she'd tried it before, quite a while ago.

* * *

AN: I know this is OOC. I'm not 100% sure how to fix it, and my girlfriend who sometimes reads things for me and helps me with them unfortunately doesn't know either. So uh. Yeah. That.


	11. Chapter 10: The Disappearing Girl

It was almost a week before Sherlock convinced Lestrade to let him work on cases again. It was also on the condition that he be escorted by someone from the Yard every time he went out to do research in the lab or to talk to suspects or any of the other miscellaneous excursions involved in tracking down criminals. John barely had any time to himself in this week, as Sherlock always wanted him to come along to do things, silly things, stupid things, going sightseeing like a tourist just so he wouldn't be so _bored_, going out dressed as each other so he wouldn't be so _bored_, bothering Lestrade for precisely three hours and twenty-four minutes so he wouldn't be _bored_, responding in kind when John finally had the nerve to admit his feelings... but that last one probably wasn't about boredom.  
Over this week John received an ungodly number of texts from his 'new friend'. He had no objection, as they were usually quite interesting.  
_I plan to compose a song based on causes of death of a few thousand people. Any ideas for whom to use? -Ev  
_ The latest one came about a minute after he arrived at the first crime scene Sherlock was allowed on. He had to wrench his wrist out of the brunette's grip to check his phone, and he nearly burst out laughing when he saw it.  
_Sounds morbid. Is it going to be a funeral march? -JW  
No. Happy song. It's a comission. I don't normally do comissions. For someone's anniversary, but I can tell they won't be together much longer. -Ev_  
He wondered briefly how she could tell, but Sherlock was calling him over to look at a body. Something about how long ago the victim had died. He got there and saw it, and immediately looked away. About half of the face was missing. Would it even be right to say the face? There was a chunk of the flesh and part of the skull underneath missing also. The amount of dried blood suggested it had occurred before or just after death. John could barely breathe, the smell was so strong. He turned his eyes to the broken window after rattling off an estimated time of death. A silver eye blinked at him, then disappeared. Green. He nearly screamed, or laughed... He wasn't sure which would be more appropriate.  
_Was that you?! -JW  
Sorry about that... -Ev  
Bloody hell, are you following us? -JW_  
He did _not_ tell Lestrade about it. Or Sherlock. He was fairly certain that he hadn't shown his reaction, so hopefully no one would notice. For the next ten minutes he was busy keeping up with Sherlock and stopping him from being snarky to Lestrade's people. When he checked his phone, he didn't find a reply.  
_Are you there? -JW_  
It was an hour later that he and Sherlock got back to 221B, and he was starting to get worried. She still hadn't replied. Was she in trouble? Busy? Did her phone run out of power and she hadn't time to charge it yet? ...Was she nervous to speak to him again after that?  
_Evangeline, I'm not upset about that. It just scared me a bit. Please reply. -JW  
_ The reply was almost instant this time. John nearly jumped off the couch when his phone buzzed.  
_Sorry -Ev  
Didn't I just say it was okay? -JW  
Sorry -Ev_  
"Texting her again? Who is she?" Sherlock was behind him, eyes directed at the screen. John closed the text quickly.  
"A friend, I already told you that."  
"You still haven't told me her name."  
"Eve." It was close enough that it wouldn't seem like a lie, right? He hoped so.  
"Short name."  
"Yes."  
"Short for something?"  
"Probably."  
"You're avoiding the question. What is her name, John?" He paused. There was no way to avoid answering this, was there? Sherlock would figure it out soon enough...  
_I'm sorry. I have to tell him. -JW  
Oh gods no please John it's been eleven years! -E  
John! -Ev  
Don't! -Ev_  
"Her name," he sighed, and turned to look at Sherlock, "is Evangeline."

* * *

AN: This one took a while. I'm not sure why. =/  
Unrelated, I got to see Iron Man 3 yesterday. It was okay.


End file.
